Disclaimer: I don't own them; I only borrow them for a time in order to bend them to my infinitely cruel and twisted, malicious will. Alas, dear Professor, forgive me!
Chapter 3 – A Threat to the South
As the King and Steward entered the ornate chamber, which convened the high council of Gondor, all within the room rose from their seats about the grand rectangular table and bowed their heads to their leaders. Both men strode into the room with purpose and took their seats promptly, indicating the others should do the same. Aragorn took his place at the head of the table, and Faramir sat at his right hand. When all were once again seated, Aragorn stood again and addressed the room.
"I have been advised by the Captain of the Southern Companies that a new threat has arisen," he said, his voice steady and grave. "An army of Orcs has amassed near the Haradian border, and will soon embark on an invasion of our southern territories."
A gasp went out among the crowd at the news. It seemed impossible that the Orcs remaining after the collapse of Mordor could organize themselves within a matter of months. With no one strong enough to lead them, the Orcs within the former borders of the Dark Lord had scattered abroad, but apparently, many had managed to be gathered together within the unfriendly borders of Harad.
"We must meet this threat, gentlemen," Aragorn continued, once the chatter had died down. "I will lead the Army of Gondor to the south to engage our foes. I have sent for my companions from the Fellowship, Legolas and Gimli. I expect them to arrive two weeks hence. We will ride out then. Have you any inquiries?"
The King's chief military advisor, Galheln, arose, and cleared his throat. "My Lord," he said, "As I understood, the Orcs of Mordor were scattered when the Dark Lord was destroyed. I do not see how such an army, which could threaten our very borders could amass in such a short time since the fall. We all know that barring strong leadership, Orcs are not prone to working together in large forces. How can we possibly believe this to be true?" When he had finished speaking, Faramir arose, and bowed his head to Aragorn, asking leave of him to speak. Aragorn nodded his assent.
"I understand your disbelief, Galheln," Faramir answered, staring kindly upon the man. "But I assure you, the reports are accurate and come from the commander of the southern companies himself, who made haste to the White City after a small scouting party encountered this force ere one week ago. They returned after suffering heavy losses and reported to Rathile that at the head of this army was a Black Númenórean, possibly the Mouth of Sauron escaped from the downfall. We do not yet know with certainty the identity of this man, but we know that the Orcs follow him with absolution. They are at his bidding, and his eyes are fixed on Gondor. Their army is moving slowly, though, and is expected to cross our southernmost border in three weeks hence."
Having spoken, Faramir returned to his seat and the room fell eerily silent, all within its confines far too stunned to speak. A Black Númenórean was a mighty foe, indeed, particularly if he turned out to be the highest living servant of the Dark Lord.
Aragorn sighed, and looked around the table, taking in the astonishment upon the men's faces. He perceived this would be a great shock to them, for he, too, had been completely befuddled by the news. Yet, the reports were true and just one year since the end of the War of the Ring, the threat of shadow had returned to the land.
Of course, Aragorn doubted not the ability of his army, since he had overseen it's rebuilding personally over the course of the year. The men of Gondor were strong and well trained. Nay, it was not the condition of his armies that worried him, it was the presence of the Black Númenórean at the Orc army's head. If he truly were the Mouth of Sauron, the foe would be made even more formidable. Aragorn knew of his powers, having faced and overcome the man at the Black Gates. However, he would now be driven by vengeance, seeking retribution for the fall of his master and that alone empowered him far more than mere servitude ever could.
"We will reconvene on the morrow and plan our course of action," Aragorn then said. "Go home now and rest, we have much to do in the next few weeks, and many preparations to make."
Aragorn then moved out from his place and made way to the door, Faramir following closely behind. When they had exited the room, the two walked together towards their respected quarters. Upon reaching the point of separation, Faramir turned to Aragorn and the two men clasped hands, the grim reality of their present situation shining in their eyes. They then parted, each to his own home to deliver the heavy news.
Upon entering his home, Faramir found that Éowyn had not yet returned from her daily activities and went into his private study to deliberate more upon the impending conflict. It troubled him immensely that he would once again have to take up the sword soon after the War of the Ring. Yet, in a way, it felt as if he were returning to a place he had lived all his life, then from it's comfort, been suddenly torn asunder. Yet, no comfort ever was found in the making of war and Faramir found himself ill at ease with having to inform Éowyn that they would have to be separated once again.
Still, there was another possibility. It was one that he was loath to consider under the circumstances, and yet he knew it would sit more peacefully with Éowyn than his having to be torn from her once more. "Yes," he said to himself, "there is one other possibility."
"Faramir!" Éowyn's voice called out from behind him, startling him into standing. He turned to face her and found her standing before him, curiosity etched upon her face. "You are early, love. I did not expect your arrival for another hour."
"I know," he answered, taking her hands in his. "The council convened early." He paused and looked keenly upon his beloved. She was so beautiful, delicate and strong all at once. He rued having to break this news to her, though it had to be done. So, Faramir took a breath and continued, saying, "Éowyn, I have something to tell you. An awful thing now brews to the south and I am loath to weigh you with the burden. Yet, you must know."
His voice was grave and bore an edge to it she had not heard it quite some time and it caused her to worry. "What is it? What has happened?" she asked, her expression now grave as his own.
Faramir sighed. "War is yet again upon us. An army of Orcs approaches the southern border of Gondor even as we speak. In three weeks hence, our army will ride forth to face it."
Silence fell as Éowyn turned from her husband and ran a shaky hand through her hair. She could feel desperation creeping upon her, and she fought to control the urge to scream. She knew now what he was trying to convey to her. The Steward of Gondor would be called to battle, and behind him, she would be left alone to face the demons of her past. Already she could sense them, reawakening with the prospect of someone she loved again riding off to battle, leaving her completely powerless to watch over them or to fight, as her heart knew she could. So was it ever for a woman.
With a deep, steadying breath, she returned her eyes to Faramir, bearing a mixture of anger and fear in them. "You have come here then to tell me we must again be parted, and that you must ride to battle, leaving me to fear for your safety; and should you not return, I would be bereft of all I love in this world."
Faramir then reached for her, bringing her close and encircling her in an embrace. He could feel her muscles tensing and her hands were grasping at his tunic as if by her very will the threat would go away. Yet, Faramir knew that it would not, and he knew also that Éowyn could not be left to the machinations of a grieving mind, going mad with worry over him and with the desire to do her part in the defense of the realm. So, it was that his decision then was made, and he lifted her face and gazed into her eyes, saying, "I have come to tell you that, yes, I must again ride into battle. However, I will not depart knowing you would be left behind to suffer so."
"What then shall you do?" she asked, her voice weak and laced with sadness.
Smiling tenderly, Faramir brushed his hand through her golden locks. "I would have you ride with me, Éowyn," he replied. He watched as her face transformed from one of despair to one of utter shock, then spoke again, saying, "Would you stay by my side through this trial, even though it may require both our lives be forfeit? Will you bear the shield once more into battle, though not as Dernhelm, but as Éowyn, Princess of Ithilien?"
Éowyn then stared at him, mystified by his request and a light shone in her eyes, which were wide with wonder. "Do you jest? You truly wish me to ride with you into battle and would trust your life in my own hands, which are so very small?"
Faramir smiled and replied, "Small they are, yet powerful enough to defeat an undefeatable enemy. Yes, Éowyn, I wish you to ride with me, as I trust no one more than you, above all with my own life."
Éowyn then laughed and threw herself into Faramir's arms, allowing her tears to fall freely, which were wrought forth by the kindness of his words and by the faithfulness of his heart. That he would ask her to ride beside him into combat was an honor greater than she could have imagined, greater even than if it were the King himself who asked it of her. For no other esteem did she hold higher than that of her husband, and for him to trust his life to her hands in the thick and fog of battle was a precious gift, indeed.
"Then I shall ride beside you, my Lord, and fail you not," said Éowyn, whose face became hard as stone in her gravity. "I will lay down my life before I allow any ill to befall you. I swear it."
Faramir sighed and held her close, inhaling the scent of her hair, which was as rose petals on a clear spring morn, awash with morning dew. And the urge flared within him to order her to stay behind, but he pressed it down, knowing what rejection then would do to her. Yet, the thought of her coming to harm tore at his heart, for he held no thing more dear than his wife, and he swore to himself that he would see himself dead before he allowed anything to happen to her. "Let us hope it does come to that," he then said. "Instead, let us hope for untainted victory, for any triumph would be in vain for me if the price were my bereavement. I do not think I could withstand that pain."
"Nor could I if I lost you," she whispered to him, stroking his face gently with her hand.
Éowyn then gazed upon him, seeing the conflict in his eyes. She knew he wanted to forbid her from riding with him, but his love for her kept him from it. But Éowyn could no more stay behind, knowing naught of Faramir's fate, than a tree reject the light of the sun. Nay, she would ride into battle one last time, not for herself, but for her husband, whom she loved so dear. And if they returned unscathed, she would thank the Valar for their kindness and return to a life of peace, never again to bare forth the shield.
And so, Éowyn and Faramir retired to their chambers, wishing to spend as much time together as they could; and as they fell into sleep in each other's arms, they dreamed dreams of peace, and of children, and of togetherness, knowing not what the future held. But so long as they lived, and so long as they loved, hope would never be far out of reach.
A/N – Forgive me for the delay in posting this last chapter, but I'm working on 4 different stories at once and am making slow progress on all fronts. But I will try and get this fic moving, as I have already written a later chapter, and have a good idea of where I'm going. Anyway, review at your leisure and by all means, enjoy.